


Moonlight On My Lover's Hair

by moonix



Category: Havemercy Series - Jaida Jones & Danielle Bennett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Everyone Is Gay, M/M, Other airmen make appearances, Raphael is a poetic disaster, Remix, The dragons are bamf ladies, Vampires, Volstovic Cycle Remix Challenge, Werewolves, feelgood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-16
Updated: 2016-09-16
Packaged: 2018-08-15 08:28:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8049322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonix/pseuds/moonix
Summary: After a fight that (temporarily) breaks up his band, Ivory, keyboard player for the Three Maidens, picks up a groupie he's been noticing at several local gigs. When the handsome one-night-stand admits to being a vampire, it turns out they have a bit of a problem. (Remix of Starlight On My Lover's Hair)





	Moonlight On My Lover's Hair

**Author's Note:**

  * For [capncrystal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/capncrystal/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Starlight on my Lover's Hair](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7747150) by [capncrystal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/capncrystal/pseuds/capncrystal). 



> This work is a remix of capncrystal's amazing fic Starlight On My Lover's Hair, and I highly recommend reading that one first, because I have shamelessly stolen several lines and concepts from it and I'm not 100% sure mine will entirely make sense if you don't? Also, it's delightful, and all of the credit should go to Crystal, so there.
> 
> Dear Crystal, you already know that I loved your fic to death, so it was the obvious choice for me to pick for the remix. I've tried including some more things that I know you like, and I hope you enjoy it, even if a lot of it is familiar from the original. I've gone through it and weeded out some obvious Britishisms, but I apologise if I didn't catch all of them, and something in me refuses to spell colour without a u, so bear with me! I made you a collage too, which I will send you next time you're online.
> 
> I'm a little bit unsure about the rating - there is no porn, but mentions of what goes on behind closed doors, and I guess some like, intense kissing and getting handsy? I'm sticking with T though as that was the original rating. Like the original, it's also mostly just fluff and nothing really icky happens, so I don't think there are any obvious trigger warnings. I am always open to adding extra warnings, changing the rating or answering questions about specific things though, so feel free to ask.

1.

_Raphael_

It was a dark and stormy night when the keyboard player of the Three Maidens, Raphael's favourite local band, came over to the bar where Raphael was sitting and asked how he'd liked the show.

Someone had put on quiet, unobtrusive background music, which was muffled down to a murmur by the ferocious noise of the rain outside. It was past midnight now, the venue emptied of all but its regulars and the remains of the band, minus the guitar player, who'd thrown a fit towards the end of the gig and flounced off with a dramatic swish of his cape. None of his band mates seemed particularly perturbed by this, and Ivory, the keyboard player, smoothly disassembled and packed up their instruments, carefully coaxing them out of their mock steampunk embellishments. Everything the Three Maidens used on stage looked charmingly shabby and makeshift in a way that made Raphael's fingers itch to pick up a needle and thread and sew the cracks back together, but Ivory himself was always pristine, even under the unforgiving hot glare of the stage lights. Raphael had hunted for information on him on the Three Maidens' shoddy homepage and found only meagre scraps, a subsequent Google search had not yielded any more. He was elusive, and Raphael liked that.

“I'm sorry about your singer,” Raphael said when Ivory leaned against the bar at a safe distance from him, his arms crossed loosely over his chest. It struck Raphael again how beautiful he was, silhouetted in low light, a single smudge of paint on the sleeve of his shirt that had probably come off one of the stage props earlier. His shoulders were spattered with rain.

“He'll be back,” Ivory shrugged. “He pulls this every few weeks. Usually comes back right on time for the next gig.”

Raphael smiled, careful not to show his teeth too much, and babbled something about Ivory being the main talent of the Three Maidens anyway. Ivory looked bemused and said nothing. His eyes were greenish grey in the dim light, like moss creeping up ancient stone, and Raphael shivered.

“I'm Raphael, by the way,” he said breathlessly, holding Ivory's gaze.

“Yves,” Ivory said softly. “But I prefer to go by Ivory.”

Raphael had wondered about Ivory's real name before, and felt blessed that Ivory had deemed him worthy of knowing it. “Hello Ivory,” he murmured reverently, and Ivory looked away. As he turned his head, the light caught on the faint trace of an old scar on Ivory's neck, a long, messy, jagged line that disappeared under the collar of his shirt. It made Raphael's teeth itch a bit to look at it.

“Do you need a ride somewhere?” Ivory asked, turning his head, and the scar slipped back into shadow.

When it turned out that Ivory's band mates had already left in the band's van, Ivory squinted at the rain lashing the uneven pavement on the small parking lot behind Tuesdays and cursed them quietly. Raphael, buoyed by the fact that he and Ivory had had a whole conversation, offered his umbrella, which was one of Luvander's and therefore rainbow striped, and Ivory allowed him to walk him home, holding the umbrella over Ivory and getting himself half soaked in the process due to his eagerness not to let Ivory get wet.

They stopped outside the house where Ivory lived. Brown leaves were huddled up against the walls and spinning on small currents of rainwater washing down the curb. Someone had placed a carved pumpkin lantern in one of the downstairs windows, its orange glow reflecting on the water like runny paint.

“Would you like to come up for coffee?” Ivory asked slowly, nodding towards the door.

“Is that an invitation?” Raphael checked, out of reflex. Ivory twitched an eyebrow and stared at him for a moment, looking hungry. Then he turned, went inside and walked up the stairs to his apartment door, where he plucked a set of keys from his jacket pocket. Raphael found himself following and leaned on the doorframe, the tips of his boots just touching the outer part of Ivory's threshold, testing the waters.

“Yes,” Ivory said belatedly, taking his jacket off and looking over his shoulder, his gaze slipping down the length of Raphael's body like a last stubborn raindrop. “That was an invitation.”

*

Raphael was not used to sleeping at night.

He was also not used to sleeping in someone else's bed, or fucking strangers, though he told himself that Ivory wasn't really a stranger, and besides, Luvander and Niall had always told him he should try it, because there was nothing like getting laid for dispelling woeful moods. Raphael was often in a woeful mood, it was kind of his Thing, and he enjoyed moping about quoting sad poetry and looking artfully dishevelled and poetic, but after spending an hour between the sheets with his celebrity crush, he had to admit there was something to be said for their advice as well.

After changing the sheets, Ivory had dozed off surprisingly quickly. His head was turned away from Raphael, who was curled up on his side and wide awake, looking at the scar on Ivory's throat, now fully exposed. It was cool in Ivory's bedroom and Raphael's hair still felt a little damp, but Ivory was radiating warmth next to him, despite his nakedness and the thin sheets. Raphael wanted to run his fingers over Ivory's hipbones and the soft, fuzzy happy trail leading down from his navel again. Somehow, he hadn't expected Ivory to have any body hair at all, which was silly of course, and now that he knew he did, it only made him more attractive.

Ivory was sleeping, though, and so Raphael didn't dare touch him.

The rain picked up again, and a clap of thunder startled Ivory awake so abruptly that Raphael nearly jumped as well.

“Hey,” Raphael whispered, pushing himself up on his elbow but staying where he was. “That was some thunder, yeah?”

Ivory looked at him, pressed up against the headboard and breathing heavily. Now, in the darkness, the green in his eyes looked almost yellow, until he blinked hard a few times and the impression was gone. Dawn itched at the back of Raphael's mind, and he reached out a hand to touch Ivory's knee through the thin sheets.

“Hey, so, I don't want to run out on you, but I really need to get going before sunrise.”

“Sunrise? Really?” Ivory echoed, sleepy and wired. Raphael could feel his heartbeat jumping under his hot skin. “What are you, a vampire?”

It was only a half-hearted joke, and Raphael could have easily found some excuse and laughed it off. He could have even said yes and played along. His throat was tight and he looked away. The silence stretched and hung suspended, like raindrops shivering in a spider's web. Slowly, Raphael ran his tongue over the tips of his retracted fangs, which, in this state, just looked like slightly oversized canines, but still felt sharper than the rest of his teeth.

“Oh,” Ivory said before Raphael had found his words. “Great. Just... great.”

“I'm not delusional,” Raphael whispered, then heaved himself out of bed and grabbed what he could find of his clothes. He knew what Ivory was thinking, and for some reason it upset him more than if Ivory had believed him and freaked out. “I drink blood – from the blood bank, not from people. You can't see me in mirrors. I burn up in the sun. I'm not a fucking werewolf, am I?”

“No,” Ivory said coolly, “you're not. But I am.”

Raphael dropped his belt and winced when he bit his own tongue by accident.

“I – you're – what, really?” he asked weakly, standing there with his trousers open and his vest on the wrong way around, his shirt lost somewhere in the unfamiliar depths of Ivory's bedroom. Ivory sighed and pursed his lips, still perched against the headboard. He didn't look like a werewolf – or, at least, he didn't look like any of the werewolves Raphael knew. His eyes trailed over the scar on Ivory's neck again and picked out the distorted shapes of what had once been teeth, though of a different kind than Raphael's fangs.

“Sun's coming up,” Ivory said softly.

Raphael wanted to say so many things, and in the end didn't say anything at all, and picked up what he thought were the rest of his clothes before seeing himself out. He forgot his umbrella, and the shirt he'd grabbed turned out to be Ivory's, but the door had already closed behind him, and he wasn't going to go back and ask for a second invitation.

*

“I slept with a werewolf,” was the first thing Raphael announced when he got home that morning. He fell face-first onto the couch, not wanting to see Luvander's expression, because he had sworn himself he wouldn't tell his housemates about Ivory, and had even believed it all the way home.

“Oh dear,” Luvander's voice murmured somewhere close by his ear, and Raphael jumped, because he hadn't heard Luvander move across the living room so fast, but that was Luvander for you. A hand worked its way into Raphael's curls and started kneading the top of his spine. “Was it shamefully filthy? He didn't bite you, did he?”

“No, worse,” Raphael said dully into the cushions without lifting his head.

“ _Worse_ , you say?” Luvander echoed gleefully. “Niall! Come quick!”

There was a clatter in the kitchen like someone setting down a stack of dishes, and then the sound of footsteps on the carpet.

“Come _quick_? That's not what you usually say,” Niall drawled from somewhere to Raphael's right. Luvander made an impatient noise, and Raphael sighed and rolled over onto his side to face his housemates. Luvander was dressed in a flimsy silk confection, his sharp collarbone decorated liberally with hickeys, and Niall, who insisted that they were perfectly within their rights to wear pyjamas at night even if they didn't actually sleep, had sat down cross-legged beside him in a pair of Beauty And The Beast leggings and a very large undershirt that he must have pilfered from Ghislain at some point. He wiggled both his eyebrows and his toes expectantly when he caught Raphael's gaze.

“So, what's it this time?” he asked. “Did you fall in love with another dead poet?”

“No, worse,” Luvander said eagerly, pawing at Niall's bare shoulder with one hand. “He fell in love with a _werewolf_.”

Niall made a rather spectacular face, then demanded “it's not Amery, is it? Please tell me it's not Amery.”

“It's not anyone you know,” Raphael muttered, defeated, and rubbed the pad of his thumb over his fangs. “He's a musician.”

“Fancy,” Luvander whistled. “What'd he do? Write a song about you? Play you like his favourite instrument? Put his mouth on you and blow?”

Raphael just sighed and flopped back onto his front.

“Uh oh,” Luvander whispered, “this is bad.”

 

2.

_Ivory_

Three Maidens was playing at a little club across town, and for the first time since Ivory could remember him showing up, Raphael was late to their gig.

When he came in, Ivory nearly lost the thread of their current song. Raphael was wearing his shirt. Ivory was glad he had his keyboard to brace some of his weight on and played a bit more furiously for a while than he would have usually done, to pound the image out of his head. He found music cleansing; the longer he played, the less cluttered his brain felt. It was cheaper than therapy, anyway, or at least he liked to tell himself that, because there was nothing cheap about his piano, the stacks and stacks of sheet music in his living room, the keyboard he used on stage, or the movers he had paid to carry his piano up the stairs when he'd moved into his apartment.

Raphael held his table until the band was done and most of the patrons had finished socialising and filtered out. Royston and Caius went out to charm their way through the audience, Hal in tow, selling their albums, and Ivory helped Merritt and Evariste pack up, trying not to look over at the bar where Raphael was ordering another drink and chatting amiably with the bartender.

Fuck. He was so fucked.

Vampires and werewolves didn't normally mix, except for lowkey aggressive parties and to find out which of them could drink more alcohol before they passed out. Ivory had been to a total of one of these parties in his life, and backed out of both the venue and the social group at the end of the night, preferring to keep to himself after that. Werewolves were pack animals, true, but the thing was, packs came in all sizes and shapes, and Ivory felt that two brothers, a best friend who lived next door, and a band was quite enough socialising for him, even if none of them were technically werewolves themselves.

“We really can't keep meeting like this,” he said when the van was loaded and the lure of Raphael in his shirt by the bar was too big to ignore anymore.

“I don't know,” Raphael smiled, “I kind of like listening to you play. But if you want me to stop coming to your shows, I will.”

Ivory stared at him for a long moment, feeling the faint pull of the upcoming full moon somewhere in his tendons. “I'm hungry,” he said carefully, “let's go find a diner or something.”

The night was clear and cold this time, old leaves crackling under their feet. Raphael was hunched into a threadbare leather jacket and a knitted wool scarf, and Ivory had the sudden mad urge to tug him into a deserted alleyway and stick his hands under all those layers, not to warm them up, because being a werewolf had its perks in winter, but to feel Raphael's bare skin again and move the conversation back to a safer, non-verbal level.

Raphael's phone chimed, and he shook his hands free from his pockets and glanced at it before typing a reply.

“Someone's popular,” Ivory said when a second message came through. Raphael laughed, but it was a small, sad sort of laugh, and he slipped his phone back into his pocket.

“Just my housemate,” he said. “He wanted to know if I needed a lift back home.”

“Is he a vampire too?” Ivory made himself ask, flexing his shoulders.

“Yeah,” Raphael shrugged. “Luvander and his boyfriend Niall and I are all...”

“Housemates,” Ivory said quickly, cursing himself for bringing this tricky subject up so soon in the conversation, but Raphael only grinned.

“Glorified mosquitoes. That's what Niall likes to call us, anyway.”

“Great,” Ivory said again. “What does that make me?”

Raphael shrugged. “An oversized puppy? Incidentally, I don't think they serve raw steaks at diners, maybe we should go somewhere else.”

“I'll have a veggie burger,” Ivory said primly, and pointedly did not meet the intrigued look Raphael threw him.

The diner was lit a little too bright for both Ivory's and Raphael's tastes, and they found a booth in the back with a broken light bulb that was dimmer than the rest. There were almost no customers, and the space was big and eerie, surrounded on all sides by large windows and the black night pressing in. Ivory had a bit of a hysterical moment thinking that he and Raphael were probably the most dangerous creatures in the building right now, and yet he couldn't shake off the feeling of nervous tension prickling at the back of his neck.

“So you eat veggie burgers,” Raphael said curiously when the waitress had come over to pour them coffee and hand over two sticky laminated menus. Ivory pushed away his cup, his stomach turning at the smell. “But you don't like coffee,” Raphael noted, nodding at the cup.

“No caffeine before the full moon,” Ivory muttered, kicking his heels against the legs of his chair. “And I can't stand meat.”

“Fair enough,” Raphael said, “meat is gross. I recommend the soy burger with barbecue sauce.”

They both ordered the soy burger, though Ivory asked for no onions, no sauce and extra cucumber, and scowled when the waitress gave him a funny look. He was aware that he was fussy, there was no need to rub it in.

“So where do you get your blood?” he asked conversationally after the waitress had left again, and Raphael looked like he was stifling a laugh.

“Blood bank,” he said, “we know a guy who works there. He's kind of an ass. Maybe you know him? His girlfriend's a werewolf.”

“I don't really... mingle,” Ivory said, his upper lip curling away in distaste at the concept. Raphael spooned a liberal amount of sugar into his coffee and took a sip. For a moment, Ivory caught a glimpse of his canines, but they looked utterly ordinary.

“Where do you go on the full moon?”

It was a legitimate question – most werewolves stayed with their pack for the transformation, for the company and to keep each other in check. There were even things such as full moon flash mobs, organised via Craigslist, and Cass had told him about a group of werewolves sneaking into the local zoo a couple of months ago and trying to hang out with the regular wolves in their pens. It had ended badly for everyone, but someone in the police department had hushed it up.

“The wood, sometimes,” Ivory said heavily, wrapping his hands around his coffee cup now after all, just to have something for them to do. “And my brothers have a shed.”

He shrugged, and when the waitress brought their food, Raphael thanked her with a charming smile and apologetically returned Ivory's untouched coffee cup. By the time he had shaken out his napkin and placed it over his lap, Ivory was halfway through his burger. He'd had dinner before the show, but werewolves had fast metabolisms, and he burned through the calories even faster in the lead-up to the full moon. Eating too fast was simply a bad habit, though.

“My housemate, Niall, he told me a werewolf joke the other day,” Raphael offered cheerfully after nibbling on his own burger and putting it back down to take a sip of his water. He seemed to have got over his initial shock from the other night and find their predicament more entertaining now than – well. Awkward. “It goes like this - “

“Spare me,” Ivory snapped. “I've heard enough werewolf jokes from my brothers to last me two lifetimes, thanks.”

“Suit yourself,” Raphael smirked.

Ivory finished his burger, and when he looked up again, Raphael was watching him, his head tilted to one side. His own burger was mostly untouched.

“You really were hungry, huh?”

“It's a werewolf thing,” Ivory muttered, pushing his plate away.

“I still can't believe I'm dating a werewolf,” Raphael said slowly, shaking his head. Then he looked vaguely apprehensive and added: “Well, maybe. I'd like this to be a date. It's the best date I've had in a long time. It's the _only_ date I've had in a long time – but the best. Do you want my burger?”

“Fine,” Ivory said, to both the implicit and the explicit question in that statement, and pulled Raphael's plate over to him. Wrinkling his nose, he picked up the top half of the bun and started scraping off the onions and as much of the sauce as possible with his fork. He finished the burger in three bites, and there was a thin, nervous silence between them when neither of them had anything left to occupy themselves with anymore.

Ivory's stomach growled.

“Hungry like the wolf,” Raphael sang under his breath, earning himself a kick under the table, and picked up the menu again. “I'm going to order you a dessert. What do you want?”

 

3.

_Raphael_

In retrospect, asking for a ride from literally anyone other than Niall may have been a better idea.

They waited outside, huddled against the wall, Raphael chatting about dead poets and leeching body heat off Ivory, who kept his eyes on the moon and made non-committal responses from time to time. The sky was clear and vast above them, and when Raphael ran out of words because he became too entranced with gazing at Ivory's face, Ivory pointed out a few constellations, and Raphael pretended he was looking. It was tender, sweet, and doomed.

Niall rolled up in Luvander's ancient Volvo with the collar of his jacket turned up and music blasting from the open windows. He poured himself out of the car like something liquid, clad all in black, and gave them a once-over and a treacly smile. This was not good. Even Ivory seemed to sense it, as he stepped away from Raphael, leaving him clenching his teeth against the sudden loss of warmth, and Raphael quickly lunged after him, grabbed his hand and squeezed.

“Niall, this is Ivory.”

“Well, well,” Niall purred, hands on his hips. “What a pretty piece of meat. Are you in any way related to Amery Vallet, darling?”

“Not that I know of?” Ivory said slowly, narrowing his eyes as Niall came even closer.

“Good,” Niall grinned. Unlike Raphael, Niall never had any qualms about showing off his perfect teeth, and while his fangs weren't out, it still looked more like a threat than an expression of humour. Ivory's grip on Raphael's hand turned painful for a moment, and when Raphael turned to relay this to him, he saw that Ivory's irises had taken on an almost purple edge, though it was gone when he blinked.

“Can we go now?” Ivory asked, his voice carefully unimpressed.

Raphael shot Niall a look, and Niall shrugged cheerfully and opened the back door of the car for them with a little flourish and a bow.

“Nice ass,” he told Ivory as he climbed into the car, and Raphael gave him a half-hearted shove. Niall cackled.

“Put that down,” Raphael muttered, tugging sharply at Niall's ridiculous collar. “It makes you look like an asshole.”

“Charming,” Niall leered at him before placing both of his hands on Raphael's bum and pushing him into the car after Ivory. “In you go. One werewolf, one vampire, ready to be delivered!”

He whistled as he got into the driver's seat, and when Raphael leaned forward to turn the music down, Niall just reached out and turned it right back up. It was some of Luvander's electro crap, all thumping bass and distorted lyrics, making the poor old car vibrate under the onslaught, and Niall did a little jiggly upper body dance in his seat at the next stop-light, singing along with abandon.

“I thought all vampires were gloomy like you,” Ivory told Raphael with the barest hint of a smirk, murmuring in his ear to be heard above the music. His voice sent a spasm of desire down Raphael's spine, and Raphael didn't answer, too busy regretting that he'd called Niall at all instead of cashing out for a taxi and getting himself another invite up to Ivory's flat.

“So, Niall,” Ivory said when there was a break in the music, “do you always sexually harass your passengers?”

“Only the good-looking ones,” Niall shot back, glancing into the rear-view mirror and giving them a wink when he caught Raphael's eye. “He's a little uptight, your werewolf. All that tension. You should find a way to unwind him. Make him howl, I daresay.”

“That's enough,” Raphael said softly, pretending he couldn't see the slightly smouldering look Ivory cast him out of the corner of his eyes.

The last time they'd slept together, Ivory had been rather quiet. Raphael would be lying if he said the prospect of changing that wasn't much more appealing right now than going home to his own empty and solitary bed.

“This was fun,” Niall said when the car stopped outside the building where Ivory lived. “Let's do it again soon.”

Ivory twitched his eyebrow at Niall, then got out of the car without another word. Breathless and half-aroused, Raphael asked Niall to wait a moment before sprinting after Ivory and catching up to him just outside the front door.

“Wait... can I have your number? Please?”

Ivory glanced at him over his shoulder, keys already out. “What if I don't want to give it to you?”

Raphael recoiled, a stitch in his side, though whether from running or disappointment, he couldn't tell.

“Then... I could... give you mine?” He floundered, aware that he was probably looking like a kicked puppy right now, but Ivory, at least, had stopped inside the doorframe and was looking at him with a cryptic expression. There was a long pause, and then Ivory reluctantly pulled his phone from his pocket and let Raphael program his name and number into his contacts. Ivory's phone was old and battered, the screen cracked in two separate places, and there was something that looked like teeth marks gnawing on the corner, which didn't tally at all with the fussily tidy impression Raphael had got from his appearance and what he'd seen of his flat the last time he'd been there. Perhaps he liked to play with it when he transformed, Raphael thought, and had to hide a smile at the image of a big, scary wolf playing Angry Birds and Candy Crush Saga curled up at the base of a tree.

“There,” he said, handing it back, “now you can text me any time, if you want, or call. I'd really like to see you again.”

Ivory carefully tucked his phone away, stepped back out of the door and took Raphael's face in both hands. They kissed deeply, Raphael's hands coming up to grasp at something, anything, but faltering halfway and hovering somewhere over Ivory's hipbones instead. When they broke apart, Raphael heard himself whine, like it was physically painful to be separated from him again.

Before he'd even opened his eyes, Ivory had snuck a hand down to his bum and squeezed it, hard.

“Don't let him put his hands on you again,” he growled under his breath, forehead pressed up against Raphael's. “I don't share well.”

He slipped inside and closed the door behind him without saying goodnight.

 

4.

_Ivory_

Two days before the full moon, Ivory realised that he'd made a mistake. Three Maidens had a gig scheduled for the first of November, the night after the full moon, where Ivory would definitely not be in any state to play yet. It was fucking fitting that it fell on Halloween this year, and Ivory had already talked to his brothers and arranged to stay with them for a couple of nights, to get out of the city and its sticky overflow of supernatural-themed parties, pumpkin spice flavoured booze and offensively garish costumes. It was also his birthday on the first, and he didn't want his bandmates to make a fuss about that, or, worse, for Raphael to somehow find out and think he had to _do_ something. Ivory shuddered, and sent Royston an apologetic text that he couldn't make the gig, then turned off his phone to escape the drama that was surely going to ensue and set about packing his bag.

“Hey, cub,” his oldest brother greeted him at the station early on Halloween morning, pulling him into a one-armed hug. Ivory endured it and let him take his bag, and together they walked to where Seb had parked his car, steps echoing in the deserted street. A thick, blueish mist still clung to the trees, and Ivory, who wasn't quite fully nocturnal but used to staying up into the wee hours of the morning and sleeping late, felt groggy and disoriented being up at this time of day.

“How's the band?” Seb asked once he'd persuaded the car to start and they were rumbling along at Seb's customarily slow pace. Ivory slumped against the window on the passenger side and watched the houses crawl past, the scenery a swirl of pumpkin orange and beady bat-eye black amid the dulled greens and browns of fall outside.

“Good.”

“Still got your singer? He hasn't left for good yet?”

“Nope.”

Ivory yawned. He was going to spend most of the day sleeping and eating, like always, and probably the next day, too. Transformations were strenuous business and, like colds, you had to feed them to lessen the impact they had on your body.

His brothers had been the ones to rush him to hospital after his bite, when he'd been fifteen and inclined to wander the suburbs at night looking for trouble in the form of shit he could burn without the risk of casualties or lawsuits or being grounded. They'd put him back together after his first full moon, and found out a whole lot of useful stuff about his affliction, like the existence of self-help groups for teenage werewolves, which back-alley witches selling specialised potions and tinctures were trustworthy and reliable when common medicine failed and which were frauds, and where to buy things in bulk that Ivory seemed to crave around the full moon. After Ivory had trashed his room one night, they'd built the shed in the garden, a large, wolf-proof space equipped with blanket nests, squeaky toys and Seb's homemade dog biscuits. Some nights, he felt like running and being outside, but when the weather got colder, Ivory's wolf was a sleepy creature and preferred the shed to the wood.

Ivory's mother, when she was present, which was rare, never talked openly about his condition, and pretended the shed was for gardening tools, despite the fact that Max and Seb had clearly given up on tending their garden in any way – it was as wild and overgrown as Max's beard.

“Here we are,” Seb said as they finally crept to a stop in front of the garage. Ivory stumbled out of the car and up the steps of their house, nearly tripping over Max's giant ginger cat, who had waddled up to greet them with frantic meowing and pleas for petting. Her name was Bearded Lady, though Ivory and Seb tended to shorten it to Bee, much to Max's ire.

Skilfully evading a bear hug from Max, who was covered in ink stains and had two pens stuck behind his ear, evidently deep in the process of editing his novel for the sixteenth time, Ivory stopped by the kitchen first to make himself a sandwich before collapsing on the living room couch and dozing off with Bee purring on his shoulder. She liked to lie curled up over his bite, and Ivory had a theory that it was actually the warmest part of him, though he found it difficult to prove this without asking someone else to touch him and verify.

He knew by the time Seb called them to dinner that this transformation was going to be a difficult one.

He felt sore and achy, and Seb's savoury pumpkin pie seemed to simply evaporate from his stomach even though he had three slices with salad and had been steadily eating his way through the fridge's contents all day. When he went out into the shed, Bee followed him with her tail held high and curled up on a shelf, watching him. Ivory let her – she often kept him company on full moon nights, and he felt the absence of a proper pack more keenly tonight, wishing abruptly that Raphael were here. He wondered if the wolf would accept his presence, and shook it from his mind.

It was time.

*

On the morning of the second of November, Ivory woke to a message from Cass. Like him, she preferred to text rather than call, and Ivory had to read her message twice to make sense of the words. Apparently, someone had shown up at his flat at four in the morning last night. Apparently, someone had been drunk and very desperate to see him after the Three Maidens show had been cancelled. Apparently, he had a stalker, was he aware?

Ivory sighed and dragged himself out of bed.

The day after the full moon, he was usually too exhausted and nauseous to eat much, so his brothers had saved his birthday breakfast for this morning instead. Ivory took a cold shower, hissing as the icy spray hit his overheated skin and letting it wash him clean of the last twenty-four hours. Then he pulled Raphael's crumpled shirt out of his bag, the one he'd left at Ivory's flat the first night they'd spent together, and put it on. It had a faint smell like old books. Still feeling a little unsteady on his human feet, Ivory went downstairs and braced himself for the singing.

“There he is,” was all Seb said, peering over the top of his newspaper.

“What's that he's wearing?” Max, who looked like he _had_ been about to launch into song, exclaimed with a hand over his heart. “Doesn't look like one of his shirts, does it?”

“I'm right here,” Ivory felt compelled to point out.

“Maybe he has a boyfriend,” Seb suggested mildly from behind his paper.

“Maybe you need to shut up and make me pancakes,” Ivory grumbled, sliding into a chair and tugging the sleeves of Raphael's shirt over his hands. Both of his brothers smirked and turned away.

Ivory ate his fill of pumpkin pancakes with mint chocolate chips, demanded a refill of the tea pot, and unwrapped his presents while Max and Seb cleared up and did the dishes. Then he went for a long walk despite the miserable, drizzly weather and spent the afternoon watching cartoons with the sound off on Max's ancient television set, only getting up to fetch more birthday cake and feed a wailing Bee despite Max's protests that she'd had more than enough food already. It was getting dark when Ivory finally heaved himself back up to his old room to pack his bag.

Seb forced a stack of tupperware on him filled with leftovers and Ivory laboriously extracted himself from Max's hug to give Bee a little smooch on the top of her head. She blinked slowly at him and rubbed her chin on his knuckles, then flitted outside when he opened the door, happily pouncing on the nearest pile of leaves.

“Thanks,” he told his brothers, keeping his eyes on the cat. “For everything.” He hated having to accept their help around the full moon, but it was preferable to spending it in the woods on his own and dragging himself back to his flat to have Cass tend to him in the aftermath. His brothers, propping up the doorway on both sides, merely smiled.

They'd called him a taxi, and when Ivory was safely ensconced inside, he pulled out his phone and thumbed through his contacts until he found Raphael's number.

 

5.

_Raphael_

When Ivory's message came through, Raphael dropped his phone in the dirt outside the blood bank. He fumbled to pick it up, jogged a few paces away from where Niall and Rook were still engaged in their bizarre straight guy rituals – or, in Niall's case, cheerfully bisexual guy rituals – and hit call with trembling fingers. After what seemed like an eternity, Ivory answered.

“Yes, hi, hey there, this is Raphael,” Raphael said stupidly. Of course, Ivory would know this, as he had programmed his number into Ivory's phone just a few days ago. “I just, I got your message, and I wanted to, that is, I wanted to hear your voice.”

“Right,” Ivory said awkwardly, sounding hoarse. “Where are you?”

“At the blood bank,” Raphael muttered, glancing over to where Niall and Rook were fistbumping. Luvander was leaning against the car, looking bored and fiddling with his phone. “With Luvander and Niall. I think we're going to this party?” There was silence, and Raphael jammed his phone between his ear and shoulder and wiped his hands on his trousers before picking it back up.

“Do you want to come?”

“Come... to the party?” Ivory asked slowly.

“Yes,” Raphael said breathlessly, “we can pick you up somewhere, might be fun. I, um, sorry, by the way, about, er. I don't know if your neighbour told you...”

“She did,” Ivory said, an edge to his voice that was like a precursor to amusement. Then, after what sounded like a laborious pause, he added: “Can you pick me up at my place?”

“Of course,” Raphael practically yelled, even though Ivory's flat was halfway across town from the blood bank and the party. He was going to owe Luvander, but he didn't care. “We're just about to leave. Are you still on your way back?”

“Yes,” Ivory said, “I'll probably be another hour, traffic is frightful. Sorry. It's fine, though, I'm not – it's fine. I don't have to go.”

“No, no, we'll come get you,” Raphael reassured him.

“Okay,” Ivory said.

“Okay,” Raphael echoed, feeling giddy and wide awake despite the fading hangover. “See you in an hour. I look forward to it.”

Ivory hung up without another word, and Raphael, who was slowly getting used to Ivory's aversion to talking any more than he had to, tried not to see this as a bad omen and skipped over to Luvander, his boots squelching loudly in the mud.

“Luvander. Luvander. Luvander.”

Luvander looked up, one eyebrow quirked, and slid his own phone back into the pocket of his black silk trousers. They were exquisite and utterly ridiculous, especially paired with the purple velvet waistcoat, the black tie with the fine, spiderweb-like pattern of silvery thread, and the oversized sunglasses Luvander insisted on wearing even though the moon was obscured by clouds.

“We need to make a detour to pick up Ivory,” Raphael informed him just as Niall was making his way back to them with their shopping. Niall and Luvander shared a sharp look, and Niall cleared his throat and loaded the crate into the back of Luvander's Volvo.

“Actually, I just told Rook we'd pick up Troy and Irene on the way,” he said, frowning, “but I suppose we've got time. Gonna be a tight fit, though.”

“Why, I'm sure Ivory can sit in Raphael's lap,” Luvander smirked, climbing into the driver's seat and turning on the music. Raphael sank into the back seat and thought about Ivory in his lap for a long time.

They stopped at Troy's place first, a dingy little apartment stuffed to the ceiling with expensive antiques and ancient books and a fridge full of fancy cheese. Troy was Balfour's ex-boyfriend and he and Amery loathed each other, which was precisely why Rook insisted on inviting him to every single werewolf party. Besides the entertainment, this ensured that they always had plenty of expensive wine, as Amery and Troy both came from rich families and tended to try and one-up each other by knowing more about wine than the other. That aside, it was actually Rook who hated Troy the most, though he claimed this was because Troy was a false, two-headed snake and a posh asshole, _not_ because he'd recently developed a protective streak towards Amery's little brother and couldn't forgive Troy for dumping him and breaking his heart, never mind what Balfour himself said on the matter, who was nowadays on rather good terms with Troy.

“Oh, you brought loser boy,” Irene said sweetly when she let them into the apartment. “Shall we make small talk while Troius finishes fussing with his hair in the bathroom?”

“Oi!” Niall shouted, giving the bathroom door a thump as they passed. “Hurry up git, we're on a tight schedule.”

“Don't,” Luvander giggled, tugging at Niall's arm. “What if he's pooping?”

“Then he better poop faster,” Niall shrugged, smacking his hand against the door one more time before following Irene into the kitchen. She passed them a round of blood-red cocktails that smelled strongly of blackcurrant, the bangles covering her arms twittering pleasantly with every move of her tattooed hands. She was wearing loose dungarees over a crop top, her feet were bare and tattooed like her hands, and Raphael tried very hard to quench the hot whirring of shame in his stomach at the vivid reminder that he'd once had a debilitating crush on her and made a complete fool of himself trying to ask her out. Irene caught his eye and smirked, picking up her own cocktail.

“Bottoms up,” Luvander said, earning himself a cheery bum squeeze by Niall, and knocked back his cocktail. The rest of them followed suit.

“What is it?” Niall asked, peering into his empty glass at the sluice of purple liquid left at the bottom.

“I call it a Bloody Fairy,” Irene grinned, revealing strong, even teeth. She was a werewolf like Troy, but there was something distinctly vampiric about her as well that Raphael found both arousing and unnerving, and he quickly looked away. “The recipe's secret, though. That's Troius done.”

Raphael blinked, because he hadn't heard anything, but a moment later, the lock on the bathroom door was slid back and Troy exited looking smoothly put-together in an expensive three-piece suit that Luvander eyed covetously. Niall put a hand on Luvander's shoulder and squeezed.

“Well,” Troy said, looking imperiously around at their faces, “shall we?”

They all piled into the car with several dusty bottles of wine, Irene teasing Troy about his hair, his cravat, and what she called his “white boy moves”. Troy snottily insisted he wasn't going to dance this time, but Irene only rolled her eyes and told everyone that Troy _always_ danced after the second glass of wine – well, attempted to, anyway.

“Don't worry, Irene, baby, Luvander and I will rescue you from his ill-coordinated clutches,” Niall promised her, and Irene managed to look both mollified and vaguely affronted at the idea that she would ever deign to dance with either of them.

She wasn't nicknamed Ironjaw for her patience with boys she considered beneath her notice.

Raphael curled up against the window again and felt pleasantly buzzed by the cocktail's high alcohol content. When they drew up in front of Ivory's apartment building at last, the buzz had turned into butterflies in his stomach, and he lurched out of the car before they'd finished stopping so as not to risk Niall getting there first. Ivory was waiting by the front door, looking drop-dead gorgeous in a thin green sweater and very tight jeans, a light jacket clamped under his arm and a scarf draped loosely around his neck. He was hot to the touch when Raphael went up on tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek.

“Hi, I'm glad you're coming,” Raphael breathed, already weak at the knees. Ivory smelled clean and lemony, and his hair was damp at the neck like he'd taken a quick shower in-between coming home and waiting for them to show up.

“How many people are going to be at this party?” Ivory asked warily when Raphael led him over to the car and he glimpsed the four people already crammed in there.

“Oh, um, I don't know. It's at Amery's place, which is pretty big, so... quite a lot, I'd imagine.”

“Right,” Ivory sighed, and climbed into the car after Raphael, who was pressed uncomfortably close to Irene's side in his scramble to give Ivory as much space as possible on the overcrowded back seat.

Once they got to Amery's house, Troy and Irene went off in search of wine glasses, and Niall flung himself into the middle of a group of more aggressive wolves containing Amery as well as Rook's girlfriend Mercedes, better known as Havemercy, for reasons Raphael could imagine but didn't want to know. Luvander, who hadn't had a chance to grill Ivory properly in the car, kept eyeing him with ominous interest, so Raphael suggested getting some food to break the tension, and Ivory looked relieved at this and followed him into the nearest of the three kitchens that existed in the Vallets' sprawling estate. Unfortunately, Luvander didn't let himself be shaken off so easily, and only faltered when they ran into Jeannot and his eyebrow by the punch bowl.

“Hello, Luvander,” Jeannot smirked, doing something with said eyebrow that made Luvander emit a small, distressed sound. Jeannot swiftly picked up Luvander's hand and brushed a kiss over his knuckles. “Your boyfriend not around tonight?”

“No, I mean, yes, he's – somewhere, nearby I mean, very near,” Luvander babbled, hiding behind Ivory, who was taller than him and Raphael by several inches.

“Now, now, Jeannot, play nice,” someone purred, and Luvander immediately attached himself to Esther's side when she came out of the pantry holding a bottle of gin and a bag of chips. Her curls circled her round face like a tousled halo, and perched on top of them was a miniature hat, most probably fashioned by her girlfriend Chastity, who ran an online haberdashery called Yesfir together with Luvander. “Hello, darling,” Esther crooned, pulling Luvander close to her ample chest. “Has someone been mean to you? Do I need to maul anyone?”

“No,” Luvander pouted into her curls. Jeannot had slunk off unnoticed. Then Luvander turned and leered at Ivory, who had managed to pile food on two plates while Raphael had been distracted, and was now pushing one of them into Raphael's hands. “Esther, have you met Raph's new boyfriend?”

Raphael felt hot and cold and nearly dropped his plate in shock. They weren't boyfriends – yet – they were just, maybe, possibly, dating, and he had no idea how Ivory would react to Luvander saying the word Raphael had been trying very hard to avoid so far.

“Boyfriend?” Esther said, “Raphael?” She threw her magnificent head back and laughed, and Raphael felt himself flushing indignantly. The notion wasn't _that_ outlandish. He'd had boyfriends before, three in fact – well, one and two flings that admittedly had only lasted a month, but still – just because those hadn't ended well, didn't mean he couldn't find a new one now.

“Mm,” Luvander hummed, “such a pretty one, too. And he's a -”

“Let's go,” Raphael said quickly, keen to avoid the discussion on just how doomed a relationship between a vampire and a werewolf was bound to be or, worse, any references to the horrible crush he'd had on Amery for a while when they'd first started coming to his parties. He pulled Ivory from the room and found them a spot outside on the patio, where they ate their food and Raphael babbled about the various people ambling past. Ivory tensed every time the subject of werewolves came up, so Raphael dropped it after a while and let him have the rest of his food when Ivory's stomach growled pitifully even after demolishing a whole plate of appetisers.

Natalia eventually found them on the swing seat, with Raphael's head on Ivory's shoulder and Ivory gazing up at the stars through half-closed eyes. She kissed him on the cheek, smelling of incense and clove cigarettes, and sat down cross-legged on a chair.

“Everyone's talking about you, Moonbeam,” she told him. “They say you've snagged yourself a pretty werewolf boyfriend.” She cocked her head to the side and regarded Ivory, who didn't move, but whose eyes flickered down to look at her. Natalia was Raphael's oldest friend from childhood, and while she was neither a vampire nor a werewolf, she had a knack for certain spells and potions, and had always been there for Raphael, like a sister more than anything. She was small and round and the most beautiful woman Raphael knew.

“This is Ivory,” Raphael mumbled, embarrassed, because he didn't want to say _my boyfriend_ without Ivory's consent. “Ivory, this is Nat, she can charm frogs to do her bidding.”

Natalia laughed, low and smoky, and offered Ivory a drag of her cigarette. Ivory politely declined.

“If only frogs weren't so useless, hey?” she said good-naturedly, and held out her hand. A firefly zoomed straight into it, and she closed her fingers around it, making a loose cage, the firefly's glow seeping out between her fingers like molten wax. She held it out to Raphael. “Here, make a wish, Moonbeam.”

Raphael closed his eyes and wished with all his might.

“Ready?” Natalia whispered, and he opened his eyes just as she opened her hand. The firefly sat quivering in the bowl of her palm. Raphael leaned forward and blew gently on it, and the little insect flitted off, taking Raphael's wish with it into the night.

“What did you wish for?” Ivory asked him curiously when Nat had spun away on her beautiful bare feet to join her girls around the bonfire.

“A kiss from you,” Raphael lied, smiling, and Ivory looked like he wasn't sure whether to believe this or not.

“Can she really make them come true? Maybe you should have asked for something bigger.”

Raphael just shrugged and continued to look at Ivory, who finally squirmed under his gaze and turned around with a sigh.

“Fine. Come here.”

Their kiss was soft and hesitant, out in the open surrounded by Raphael's friends, but no one seemed to be paying them attention at that moment, and slowly, Raphael let himself relax into it. Ivory had one hand in Raphael's hair and was tugging on a curl, the sensation sending shivers down his spine, just on the edge of painful, but not quite yet.

“There,” Raphael murmured when they broke apart, “Nat's a witch alright. That was definitely magical.”

“You're ridiculous,” Ivory told him, but it sounded rather fond, and he kissed Raphael again right away.

 

6.

_Ivory_

They returned to Ivory's apartment together, and Raphael found ways and means to keep him up past even Ivory's late bedtime. It was afternoon when Ivory woke again, his curtains shut tightly and a cold, shivering lump curled up next to him under his thin sheets. He took pity on Raphael and fetched him another blanket before padding into his kitchenette to make tea.

Tea turned into second breakfast, even though he'd had a big first one in the morning before he and Raphael had gone to sleep. His cat Andromeda joined him, winding around his feet and rubbing her head against his palm, happy that he was back; as much as she liked her cat-sitter, Cass, she always pined when Ivory wasn't there. Feeling sleepy again, Ivory washed and cleared away his plate and knife, made two fresh cups of tea and took them into the bedroom with him, where Raphael was just starting to stir.

“Ivory?” Raphael asked faintly, his voice fuzzy with sleep. His hair was a riot of curls sticking up in all directions, and Ivory felt smug for a second, because he was at least half responsible for that.

“I made tea,” Ivory said, unnecessarily, and sat down on the mattress next to Raphael with the two mugs. The quivery bundle that was Raphael groaned and quivered some more, moving around until he was on his side, facing Ivory. There were purple smudges under his eyes.

“Hungover?” Ivory suggested, even though Raphael hadn't actually drunk much at the party as far as Ivory could remember.

“Hungry,” Raphael muttered, looking apologetic. “You know. That kind of hungry.”

“Oh,” Ivory said, blinking fast, and then again: “Oh.” Some part of him was aware that he hadn't seen Raphael drink any blood since he'd picked him up in front of his house last night, though he didn't know how often, exactly, vampires needed to feed. Judging by how shaky Raphael was, definitely at least once in twenty-four hours.

“It's okay,” Raphael sighed, rubbing his face on the pillow and peering out at him through swollen eyes. “I'll just. Go home when it gets dark. I can get a taxi.”

“Can you wait that long?” Ivory asked worriedly. “Does food help?”

“I can,” Raphael said with a nod. “Actual food is kind of like... like trying to fill up on water. My stomach stops growling but I haven't fixed anything. Liquids and iron supplements are better.”

“I have some,” Ivory said quickly, getting up. He held out one of the mugs to Raphael, and, on second thought, put both mugs on the bedside table before going to fetch the supplements he'd been advised to take around the full moon, because he tended to get anaemic, and sometimes he hurt himself during the transformations and lost a lot of blood before anyone could tend to him.

Raphael was sitting up when he came back, both mugs cradled in his lap. He held one out to Ivory in exchange for the supplements, but Ivory only waited until he'd taken them before handing it back.

“Drink up,” he said gently, and Raphael complied.

He started to look better after a shower and some food, and Ivory had the brilliant idea of taking him back to bed and distracting him by taking all the clothes back off that Raphael had borrowed after his shower and kissing every inch of him that he uncovered. Raphael was boneless and pliant, his body opening itself easily to Ivory's mouth, and the noises he made were small and soft and helpless, like he couldn't have held them back even if he'd wanted to.

Ivory was straddling Raphael, clad only in his sweatpants that were riding dangerously low on his hips by now, when Raphael leaned up and started kissing him back, sucking on the skin of his jaw and trailing the softest little bites up to Ivory's ear. Ivory enjoyed seeing the strain in Raphael's muscles as he kept himself just barely within reach of him. Raphael's lips touched neck, ear, neck again, unhurried and luxurious. His mouth was wet and cool on Ivory's skin, the scrape of his teeth thrilling in new, unfamiliar ways, because Ivory had to trust him not to use his fangs, even though he rationally knew that he could probably overpower Raphael if he needed to.

Slowly, Raphael dragged his lips and teeth down Ivory's jugular and towards the hollow of his throat, sucking on his collarbone. Ivory heard himself make an embarrassing little sound and rolled his hips down to meet Raphael's, half out of reflex and half because he wanted to cover up this little lapse in self-control. Raphael arched up and tightened his hands on Ivory's hips. To muffle any more potential noises, Ivory pulled Raphael's head back with a sharp tug and kissed him, open-mouthed and bruising, but let himself be coaxed into a more sensual pace of slow, hot kissing, rocking his hips up and down and feeling a clench of desire in his belly when Raphael grabbed his ass and pulled him closer. They broke apart, breathing sharply, and Raphael let his mouth trail along Ivory's neck again, sucking hard, and just as Ivory was idly contemplating climbing off him and taking off the rest of his clothes, Raphael suddenly gasped and pushed him off himself.

Ivory hadn't realised how strong Raphael was until both of them ended up on the floor on either side of the bed, catapulted over the edge by the sudden flurry of panic. There was a yelp and a thud, and Ivory scrambled back up and across the mattress to check that Raphael hadn't accidentally brained himself on the bedside table, still reeling with arousal and confusion.

“What the fuck, Raphael?”

Raphael stared up at him, wide-eyed, one hand covering his mouth. He looked terrified, flushed and out of breath, and before Ivory could ask him what was wrong, he was up and stumbling to the bathroom, still hiding his mouth behind his hand.

Slowly, it dawned on Ivory.

He picked himself up off the bed and walked after him, giving him time to compose himself. Raphael was standing in the middle of the bathroom, shaking, not a trace of him visible in the mirror above the sink. He lifted his head when Ivory cleared his throat and glanced between Ivory and the mirror, looking panicked, then mumbled something unintelligible from behind his hand and shut up abruptly as Ivory took a few steps closer.

Slowly, carefully, Ivory took hold of Raphael's wrist and tugged his hand away from his mouth. His lips were clamped tight, but he could see the tips of his fangs still poking out and didn't let Raphael duck his head to hide them. Instead, he placed his fingertips lightly on Raphael's upper lip and pushed it up a little, exposing one sharp, curved, beautiful fang.

“Show me?” Ivory asked quietly, and Raphael opened his mouth with a pleading, apologetic look in his eyes and bared his teeth. Ivory touched his thumb to one of Raphael's glistening fangs, making him shiver violently, though he didn't pull away. “Sorry,” Ivory murmured, lowering his hand. “Did that hurt?”

Raphael shook his head, eyes closed. “Doesn't hurt,” he said, his speech a little slurred. “Just sensitive, is all.”

“I thought you could control when they came out,” Ivory said sheepishly.

“I _can_ ,” Raphael mumbled and opened his eyes. This time, when he put his hand back over his mouth, Ivory didn't stop him. “Just, not so well when I'm hungry, and... well. Listen, I'm really sorry. I should go.” He sounded clearer now and dropped his hand again, and Ivory saw that his fangs had retracted again almost completely.

“You can't,” Ivory pointed out softly. “It's not dark enough yet.”

Raphael looked like he was going to cry.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered again, shoulders drooping. “I'm an inconvenience and this was a bad idea. I can wait out in the hall if you want. Although your neighbour's very unimpressed with me and might potentially kill me with her broom.”

“I don't want,” Ivory said sharply, making Raphael wince. He lowered his voice again and slid his hand under Raphael's chin, lifting it up so he could look into his eyes as he spoke. “I don't want you to go. Can we just go back to bed?”

Raphael nodded, stunned, and Ivory took his hand and led him back into the bedroom, where Andromeda had curled up smugly in the mess of blankets they had left behind. Raphael squeezed himself up against the headboard, arms around his knees, and Ivory regretfully dislodged Andromeda from her nest to climb in next to him and put his head on Raphael's shoulder.

“What would happen, do you think,” he asked slowly, “if one of us bit the other?”

Raphael looked up, shivering in the cold air of Ivory's bedroom. “I don't know,” he said tiredly. “I've never heard of a vampire who's also a werewolf, have you?”

“No,” Ivory admitted, “but I don't know a lot of werewolves. Or vampires, for that matter.”

“Well, I do,” Raphael said, a slightly bitter edge to his voice. “We don't really, well. Mix. Like that. I suppose if one of us bit the other, it'd either kill us, or nothing would happen at all.”

“You mean we could be immune?”

“It's possible. Or the opposite, really.” Raphael shrugged, then made a desperate little sound in the back of his throat and leaned his head sideways against Ivory's. “I don't particularly want to be the one to find out, do you?”

“I guess not,” Ivory murmured wryly and burrowed his nose in the soft crook of Raphael's neck. “We've still got time to kill before nightfall, though...”

“Oh, god,” Raphael whimpered, though it was the good kind of whimper, the one that made Ivory want to do things to him. “I – I don't think we should. What if I...?”

“You stopped yourself, didn't you? You got them under control again.”

“Yes, but, I mean, fuck, I have control, but if you let me kiss your neck like that again, I... that sounded awful, I'm sorry.”

“Maybe I should tie you to the bed,” Ivory mused jokingly, nuzzling the side of Raphael's jaw. He looked up when Raphael made a tiny noise of distress and saw that Raphael had clamped his hand over his mouth again.

“...Did it happen again?”

“It happened again,” Raphael whispered, mortified, his voice muffled behind fangs and fingers, and Ivory couldn't help it – he laughed.

“Let me get a tie,” he said, and forced himself not to look over his shoulder when Raphael made another _noise_.

 

7.

_Raphael_

“Loser boy,” Irene said, so startled when she saw him standing outside their apartment in the pouring rain that her words lacked the usual disgust. “What are you doing here?”

She squinted at him, her large, dark, kohl-rimmed eyes flashing amber for a moment, but Raphael blinked and the impression was gone again. Thunder tumbled through the thicket of fat, grey clouds above, and Raphael shivered pitifully, soaked to the bone and wishing he'd taken a taxi, even though the place where he worked night shifts – a run-down supermarket that was open 24/7 – was close enough to where Troy and Irene lived that it wasn't really worth parting with the cash, especially not if you were a supernatural being and could, technically, walk all night without getting exhausted.

“C-c-can I ask you g-guys something?” Raphael tried to say, teeth chattering violently from the cold, and Irene rolled her eyes and stepped aside to let him pass.

“Bathroom,” she snapped, grabbing his shoulders and turning him away from the living room, “you'll just rain all over Troius' precious books and then I'll have to listen to him complain about it all night.”

She shoved him inside and flung a towel at his head, then disappeared and came back with a small stack of clothes in one hand, making Raphael squeak when she marched in without knocking and he was in his underpants. Irene smirked, pointedly looked him up and down, and handed over a pair of sweatpants and what looked like one of Troy's old Ivy League hoodies.

“Wouldn't want you catching anything on our watch,” she drawled, “or your lupine lover boy might start a war.”

Once Raphael was dry and dressed, Troius very reluctantly made room on the cluttered sofa for him to perch while Irene procured three mugs of boozy hot chocolate from the kitchen. Their living room was sparsely lit and crammed to the ceiling with books, notes, ancient vinyl and cassette tapes, antique furniture, old maps, faded, frilly doilies and a magnificent taxidermied wolf mounted above an unlit fireplace, and Troy's eyes kept being drawn back to a large mahogany writing desk, where he'd been working earlier. He and Balfour had met at university and geeked out together over a shared fondness for philosophy, though it was actually Irene who had the PhD.

“How's it going with lover boy?” Irene asked disinterestedly, leaning back in an armchair with her mug balanced precariously in the palm of one hand. She didn't have a lot of facial expressions beyond smirky, unimpressed and blank, and was currently wavering between the latter two.

“Actually, that's kind of – what I wanted to ask you about,” Raphael mumbled, taking a sip of hot chocolate and choking on just how boozy it was. He should have known, considering that Irene had made it – it wasn't fair that werewolves had a higher alcohol tolerance than vampires, really, but Irene's threshold was beyond even that.

“He's come to ask us for romantic advice,” Troy snorted, his own mug untouched. “Is he out of his mind?”

“Oh, certainly,” Irene smirked, “though I daresay it's a rather special form of... lunacy, in his case.”

“Werewolf puns,” Raphael said weakly. “Great.”

“Hardly a pun,” Troy scoffed.

Raphael squared his shoulders, placed his mug on the floor for lack of space on the coffee table and found a sofa cushion with tassels and tiny mirrors embroidered on the case to occupy his hands.

“Have you ever heard of a case where a werewolf was turned into a vampire, or vice versa?”

Troy and Irene exchanged a quicksharp glance before looking bored again, their facial expressions perfectly in sync. Sometimes it was hard to believe they weren't twins, despite the differences in their appearances.

“No,” Troy said carefully, weighing the word on his tongue like trying to determine the value of a precious gemstone. “That is to say, not from _reliable_ sources. There are many books on werewolves and vampires of course, but it is often difficult to separate myth from fact, though viable attempts have been -”

“Yes, yes, whatever,” Irene brushed this off, “don't expect him to ever give you a straight answer to anything, he'll go off on twenty different tangents and forget your question. Anyway, if you wanted to get all bitey with your boyfriend and were hoping we'd tell you to go for it, I'm afraid we can't. The 1815 breeding ban on supernatural beings pretty much ensured that we have barely any legitimate records on what happens when we procreate, let alone mix with other species.”

“What she's saying,” Troy interrupted with a leer, “is go ahead and suck his cock, but don't _suck_ his cock, you know?”

“No bestiality either,” Irene smirked. “By all means ride your man into the sunset, but steer clear of the wolf around the full moon.”

“You two are awful,” Raphael whispered, leaning down to cover up his blush and snatch his mug back up. He needed a drink.

“We're just looking out for you, loser boy,” Irene told him easily, looping her legs over the arm of her chair. “Do you want to know about werewolf mating rituals now? Where to tickle him so he squeals?”

“Tut tut,” Troy said, “don't go telling the enemy all our secrets, Irene.”

Irene rolled her eyes again and poked Troy's arm with one of her long toes. She had a full moon cycle tattooed down the length of her foot, ending just below her toe nail. “Pretty sure Amery's already told Niall everything there is to know. What about that kinky little book you had, we could just let him borrow it, and then we won't even have to explain, and he'll owe us a favour.”

Raphael's mouth ran dry both at the suggestion of a book on werewolf mating habits and the formidable idea of owing Troius and Irene a favour. He hadn't wanted to go to Amery, for obvious reasons – these being primarily his history of having awful and humiliating crushes on Amery – but he was starting to wonder if coming here had been an entirely good idea.

“I don't know,” Troy said slowly, wrinkling his nose. “I don't want any bodily fluids on any of my books.”

“I wouldn't,” Raphael heard himself say, sounding far too eager. “I wouldn't desecrate a book like that.”

Irene and Troius looked at him for a long, eerie moment, then both burst out laughing at the same time.

“The look on his face!”

“I can't believe you fell for that.” Troy slapped his thigh, let out one last, devious “ha!”, and then stood up to fetch an old leather-bound book from one of his shelves, revealing more books in a second row behind the first. “Here,” he said, handing it over, “it's no werewolf kama sutra, but if you really want to learn more about your boyfriend, this is a good place to start.”

Raphael thumbed through the book, which seemed to contain mostly medical information and some anatomical drawings, and absent-mindedly drank the last of his hot chocolate, feeling a little woozy when he stood up. It had almost stopped raining.

“Thank you,” he said, shaking Troy's hand.

“Don't forget that favour,” Irene said.

Raphael ignored her. “I'll try to keep it free of bodily fluids,” he grinned, tapping the book with his index finger before putting it in his bag.

 

8.

_Ivory_

Ivory sincerely wished he had alternatives when it came to asking for rides. That was to say, he wished he had alternatives that weren't his bandmates or his bandmates' boyfriends, hilarious as it was that they all now seemed to have one of those, despite their respective – weirdnessnes.

Merritt was the least irritating of Ivory's bandmates, which said a lot more about just how irritating Royston and Caius were than it did about how pleasant a guy Merritt was, and Merritt's boyfriend Evariste had the van, so he was usually Ivory's first choice of driver. Unfortunately, Merritt was currently engaged in cheering for his twin sister Val at a roller derby event downtown, and he'd requisitioned Ev and the van for her team, so Ivory was left with no other option than to text his cousin, as taking the subway on a Friday night was a prospect even more horrendous to him than spending twenty minutes in a car with Caius Greylace, and Royston was simply a hazard on the road.

“Oh, darling, this is excellent news,” Caius exclaimed, clapping his small hands together as Ivory slumped into the back seat of Al's pick-up. It had taken him a marvellous total of five seconds to extract the information out of Ivory that he'd been invited to a party at Raphael's house and that Ivory was sleeping with him. “Have you told him of your predicament yet?”

Caius was turned almost all the way around in his seat, despite still wearing his seat belt, and Al huffed and tugged him back around without taking his eyes off the road. The pick-up smelled like leather and fresh apples, because Al used it to transport his home-grown produce to the farmer's market on the weekends, and Ivory bent down to retrieve a small pumpkin that had rolled under the seat.

“Yes,” he said slowly, weighing the pumpkin in his hands, “in fact, he's got a – predicament of his own.”

Caius sucked in an audible breath and cupped his hand over his mouth. While not a supernatural being himself – just a conventional fairy, as he liked to say – Caius was well versed in all things mythical and nocturnal, and mingled with all sorts of crowds, including some of the werewolf packs that Ivory was so careful to avoid. It was hard to tell just how much Al knew or believed of these matters, as he was always so quiet, but he seemed perpetually unfazed by anything that came out of Caius' mouth these days, and merely involved himself when he thought Caius was being unnecessarily reckless.

“But that's wonderful!” Caius now whispered, already twisting around in his seat again. “I'm so happy you've finally found your teapot, dear.”

“Teapot?”

“Oh, you know. Jacks and Jills, nuts and bolts, teapots and cups. Things that go together. Does he make you feel all warm and caffeinated inside?”

The pick-up went over a hole in the road, and Ivory hit his head on the low ceiling and opted not to answer that. Caius turned back to the front, humming and unscathed, and briefly touched his hand to the back of Al's on the gear shift. Ivory squinted out of the window at the clear sky, spinning the miniature pumpkin around in his hands while Caius chattered about the farmer's market and someone called Petunia. It took Ivory several minutes to realise that Petunia was, in fact, a horse, and not a person.

“To think that we called him our stalker!” Caius said when they finally turned into the street where Raphael lived. “He must have been pining for you from afar, the poor thing. Do give him my regards, Ivory. We shall put him on the guest list for our next performance, of course.”

“Right,” Ivory said, climbing out of the car and feeling slightly dizzy. He tried to hand the pumpkin through the window, but Caius pushed it back into his hands.

“No, no, you keep it, dear. It's just one of those silly ornamental things, not actually edible.”

“Thanks,” Ivory muttered reluctantly, “and thanks for the ride.”

“Any time,” Caius beamed, and Ivory could see Al roll his eyes next to him, though the corners of his mouth were twitching in amusement. Caius was in possession of neither a car nor a driver's license and liked to treat Al like his personal chauffeur, but Al was a big, beefy sort of guy – if he really didn't want to drive around town for such a tiny slip of a person as Caius, Ivory was sure he'd find a way to refuse.

“Better go in, dear,” Caius whispered bracingly.

Ivory turned and looked up at the house, suddenly nervous again. Someone had pasted black paper bats to the windows, probably as a joke since Ivory was ninety-nine percent sure that the idea that vampires could turn into bats was utter bogus, and a trail of lit torches lined the path up to the house. There were little planter boxes of barely legal looking herbs and a few garden gnomes performing different yoga poses near the front door, two of which had been positioned close together in a clumsy appropriation of something naughty. Ivory tore his gaze away. He could hear voices drifting over from what seemed to be a garden on the other side of the house, trailing smoky laughter like gunpowder on the air, and the prospect of joining all these unfamiliar people made his throat go tight.

“Need us to come in with you, for moral support?” Caius called over, leaning out of the window of the car. Ivory twitched and forced his legs to move.

“I appreciate your concern,” he said drily, “but I'll be fine. See you at practice Saturday?”

“Mm,” Caius grinned, “if your special needs boyfriend doesn't use you for ritual sacrifice.” Ivory ignored him and went up to the front door, his slightly trembling hands hidden away in his jacket pockets, even though he was already feeling overheated and would rather have taken it off.

“Be safe!” Caius trilled after him as the motor started up again, and Ivory took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

He thought he'd been prepared for anything after the werewolf party, but when a one-armed pirate opened the door, he realised just how in over his head he was and briefly considered running after the pick-up and jumping on its back.

“Arr, you must be Ivorrry,” the pirate grinned, tipping his black felt hat at him with a wink. His skin was dark brown and scarred in places, and he had his dreadlocks tied up in a bun, which he tucked neatly under the hat as he put it back on his head. Ivory could easily imagine him fighting sharks (literally) single-handedly and lugging giant treasure chests around, pretty much the only thing that was missing from his outfit was a colourful parrot on his shoulder. Even his bare feet were sandy despite coming from indoors.

“I am,” Ivory managed, trying for casual rather than quietly pissing himself in fright. He had questions about what this bearded buccaneer was doing on land, let alone in Raphael's house, and whether or not he could bench press an entire shark, but he controlled himself and stepped inside when the pirate man waved him through with a flourish. His courage lasted until he came to a halt in front of a haphazard pile of shoes and boots in the hallway and remembered that this was a party, and he was on unfamiliar territory, and Raphael would expect him to socialise with his friends, most of whom were Niall, or vampires, or both. He jumped horribly when a big hand landed on his shoulder.

“On behalf of the absolutely horrendous trio that live here, welcome to the Bat Cave. You may have noticed that it's neither a cave, nor does it have bats, at least not the live, fluttery kind that eat bugs. Disappointing, I know.”

Ivory was saved from a fate of standing awkwardly in the doorway, forever, by a familiar face peeking out curiously to see who the one-armed pirate zombie was terrorising. Ivory was quite sure that he wasn't actually a zombie, as zombies didn't really exist, but the scarred face reminded him vividly of a horror film Cass had made him watch with her last month, and he had never been so glad to see anyone, ever, as he was to see Raphael now.

Raphael seemed happy to see Ivory, too, judging by the soft, melty expression on his face.

“Mags,” he said in a fond and exasperated tone, “stop scaring our guests. I think Niall might need some help in the kitchen. He's getting the rosemary and lavender mixed up again.”

The pirate's one, shovel-sized palm met his face halfway, and he muttered through it, “How? How can he not tell? They smell completely different. Lovely to meet you,” and then he was gone and Ivory allowed himself to breathe again.

“Is that for me?” Raphael said, his face lit with joy, and Ivory looked down at his hands in confusion and noticed he was still holding the tiny pumpkin. He nodded awkwardly and let Raphael take it, beaming.

“It's ornamental. I didn't know this was a costume party,” Ivory whispered, and Raphael covered his mouth as he laughed. In the dim light of the hallway, Ivory saw that he was wearing jeans and a very colourful knitted sweater, and wondered whether Raphael had endeavoured to be Mags' missing parrot tonight.

“Wait until you see Ghislain,” Raphael murmured mischievously, and then he grabbed Ivory's hand and pulled him deeper into the house, pressing him against the coat rack on the way for an indulgent kiss with his hands on the lapels of Ivory's shirt. “I've been missing that for days,” Raphael whispered, their noses pressed together, and Ivory's knees once again felt distinctly like jelly.

“Can we go to your room,” Ivory whispered, swallowing thickly, because the light and laughter spilling out of the nearby kitchen made him feel a little nauseous. He could see Raphael's pupils dilate at the suggestion, and when he spoke, he sounded slightly out of breath.

“Later,” he said, “I want to introduce you to my family first.”

He took Ivory's hand again and tugged, and Ivory followed reluctantly, the sudden light in the kitchen hurting his eyes so that he had to squint and blink away a sudden wetness. Once he could see again, he spotted Luvander perching on the kitchen counter, nibbling on something his thieving magpie fingers had snatched up from Mags' giant wooden cutting board. Niall was bent over a large pot of some bubbling, fruity concoction, and behind them stood a man who dwarfed even Mags, arms crossed over his rum barrel of a chest and the same piratical attire as Mags, complete with a wooden peg leg. Thankfully, no one else seemed to be wearing a costume.

“We're a matching set,” this one leered when he caught Ivory looking, showing off his leg and shaking Mags by the shoulder until Ivory was afraid he'd cut off another errant limb rather than the carrots he was chopping. “The name's Ghislain. We're the neighbours.”

“Ignore him,” Raphael stage-whispered, “in fact, ignore everyone here, they're all terribly handsome and dashing and won't hesitate to seduce you away from me.”

Niall smirked and dropped a handful of thinly sliced kumquats into the pot of what smelled like mulled wine. “I would,” he said, winking at Ivory, then caught Luvander around the hip just as he was sliding off the counter and reeled him in close for a smacking kiss on the side of his neck. “If I weren't engaged-to-be-married to this delicious morsel of a man.”

“Funny,” Ivory heard himself saying, feeling dizzy once again, “I don't remember you having any reservations last time. You were quite happy to grope _my_ delicious morsel of a man.”

He heard Raphael's sharp intake of breath beside him, and firmly wrapped his arm around Raphael's waist, one hand on his ass, pulling him closer to make a point. Niall seemed unperturbed by this, though, and Luvander only smirked, leaning back against his boyfriend. Fiancé. Oh, god.

“Moonbeam doesn't count,” Niall said, “he's far too precious about Love and Romance to sleep with either of us, and he needs a bit of motivational butt-groping every now and then.”

“Does he, now,” Ivory muttered under his breath, and experimentally squeezed the hand that was still on Raphael's ass. There was another minuscule gasp, and Raphael squirmed out of his grip, looking delightfully pink-cheeked and flustered.

The rest of the introductions were made without utter nuclear disaster. The pirate husbands lived across the street, where Mags had a greenhouse full of questionably legal herbs, which explained the planter boxes Ivory had seen earlier; Ghislain, despite his size, was a school teacher, and was well into telling and re-enacting a riveting ghost pirate story when some of the girls Ivory had seen at the werewolf party made an entrance and stole his show. Raphael whispered their names in his ear when Ivory tried and failed to remember them – Esther, Irene, Natalia, and a blue-haired girl who was introduced to him as Amery and Balfour's cousin Stella Steelhands, named after a propensity for punching (and hospitalising) pushy dudes who didn't take no for an answer. Ivory vowed to steer well clear of her, just in case. Then Niall and Luvander pulled him aside under the pretence of giving him some mulled wine to try and proceeded to regale him with a shovel talk that was probably meant to be threatening, but made Ivory think of two baby bats flapping their wings at a gnat and falling over each other in their haste to get at it. It was really rather charming, and he appreciated that they were evidently trying to watch out for their friend, though he didn't give them the pleasure of pretending to be intimidated.

They had some food, and then Raphael gave him a tour of the house, which was filled to bursting with things. The walls were obscured under tapestries and decorations, and heavy ornamental curtains hung next to all of the windows, though they were currently open to let in the night air. Clippings of plants were pushed onto every sill so they could soak up the sunlight behind those drapes. There were tall and very tidy bookshelves in the sitting room, and a squashed sofa and some well-loved armchairs arranged around a fake fire in the fireplace and a flat-screen TV. Clothes were draped over various surfaces (Luvander's, judging by the amount of waistcoats and scarves), and Ivory was so busy looking at the wall of postcards and paintings in the hall that he didn't notice Raphael was leading him to his bedroom until they were already inside.

“Oh,” Ivory said, something prickling at the back of his neck when he heard the soft click of the door closing behind him. Raphael was leaning self-consciously against it and reached out a hand, and Ivory took it and let himself be pulled in and kissed.

“I wanted to ask you something, actually,” Raphael murmured as they broke apart, licking his lips. Ivory's fingers brushed Raphael's throat just above his collar and caused him to shiver lightly.

“Okay,” Ivory said, “but only if you kiss me again.”

Raphael was happy to comply, then led him over to his bed and sat down, patting the spot beside him. His room was tidy in a way that made Ivory think he had cleaned up specifically for this occasion, but there was a large, ancient-looking book on his night table that hadn't been put away. Several colourful bookmarks, some of which seemed to be dried leaves, poked out between the pages.

“So,” Raphael said, taking both of Ivory's hands in his and looking shy. “I read some stuff, about werewolves, and – I'd like to see you, if I may.”

“You can see me any time,” Ivory pointed out, frowning, and Raphael smiled at him and lifted one of his hands to his mouth to kiss it.

“I meant on the full moon,” he clarified softly, “but only if that's alright with you.”

Ivory swallowed and had to look away. He was quite sure his hand was trembling in Raphael's, so he pulled them both away and furled them in his lap. It wasn't that he wasn't lucid when he transformed, or that he didn't trust himself not to turn into a murderous rampaging monster, but things were different when he was a wolf. The world was different, and he was different, and hunting and eating a rabbit felt perfectly natural when he wouldn't even go near the meat aisle on every other night of the month.

“It's okay,” Raphael said after a long pause, “I understand.”

“No, I,” Ivory said, stumbling over the words, “I want you to, I think. Just. Not next time. Maybe the one after that.”

“Okay,” Raphael said easily, a brilliant smile melting over his face. Before he could change the topic, Ivory took hold of Raphael's face with both of his hands and pulled him into another kiss, only distantly aware that they were on Raphael's bed, and when they broke apart again, several minutes had passed on the luminous alarm clock next to the book on Raphael's night table, and they were both breathing hard.

“We should go back,” Ivory said regretfully, “or your housemates will think...”

Raphael laughed, and his voice was pleasantly rough around the edges after all the kissing. “They'll think that anyway,” he pointed out, rubbing his thumb between two of Ivory's knuckles and making him shiver. “I'm sorry, there weren't supposed to be so many people, I know you don't like...”

“People,” Ivory finished for him with a weak grin. “Yes. Well. I'm not like other wolves.”

Raphael laughed again and pulled him to his feet, though the short walk over to the door took them considerably longer than it should have, because they kept stopping to steal kisses on the way.

“That looks like a tasty treat,” smirked a slim, dark man with wicked eyes as they emerged from Raphael's room dishevelled and breathless, and Raphael jumped and squeaked when he passed them by and patted Raphael's butt.

“Jeannot is a fucking menace,” Raphael grumbled, hiding his face in Ivory's shoulder. “Beware of him.”

Ivory wrapped his arm around him. “Do you need me to defend your honour?” he asked drily, lips tugging up at the edges. “Far as I could smell, that was a werewolf. I could challenge him.” Raphael made a muffled sound that could have been a spoken maybe, or a laugh, or a whimper, and something inside Ivory was turning warm and uncomfortably gooey, so he extricated himself from him and motioned for them to go back downstairs to brave the small crowd on the patio.

Open French doors led to a garden where Natalia and her fancy ladies were gathered. It was every bit as green and wild and magical as the front of the house wasn't, draped haphazardly with fairy lights and rainbow bunting, and there was thankfully no sign of the yoga gnomes. Raphael put the small pumpkin he'd picked up again on the way out beside a candle in a jar and the flickery light cast leery shadows on its thick orange skin. Then he leaned down and gave Ivory a quick kiss on the back of his hand before excusing himself to talk to Natalia, who glanced over at Ivory with bright green eyes and a predatory smile on her round, red mouth, making him shiver.

He had a second cup of mulled wine, and then a third, making him loose and a tiny bit wobbly, though he wasn't drunk yet. Sleepy and content, yes, and tipsy enough to avoid dealing with strangers and vampires and other werewolves – people, he reminded himself, it was people in general he didn't feel up to interacting with most of the time. He stayed where he was, feeling warm whenever Raphael looked for him and sent him one of his soft, conspiratorial smiles, which was infinitely preferable to being paraded around or having him hover nearby in misplaced solidarity.

“You okay there, kiddo?”

A massive hand dropped onto the top of his head, and Ivory instinctively looked for cracks in the concrete of the patio floor that he was sitting on. The one-armed pirate, Magoughin, was grinning at him, probably intending it to be exactly as threatening as it was, though also probably not taking into account that he was now wearing a rainbow-coloured knitted sweater that looked very similar to Raphael's. He noticed Ivory looking and sat down next to him with a grunty chuckle and an ominous creak of his massive joints.

“You like 'em? My husband knits about ten every fall,” he said jauntily, offering another cup of mulled wine to Ivory, who declined. Mags shrugged and kept both cups in his one hand, holding them by the handles and alternating sips between them.

“I'm never going to get used to this,” Ivory whispered helplessly, glancing at a singular old Wellington boot that someone had planted basil in.

“What? Guys can like knitting, gendering hobbies is stupid and demeaning. Or were you talking about something else?” His smile had turned gentle, like some kind of fictional trope of a wise old mentor dishing out advice.

“Just, all of you,” Ivory said, limply waving his hand at the garden. “There's just. So many of you.”

Magoughin smirked, clinking the two cups of mulled wine together in a solitary toast. “You forgot to include yourself in that pronoun,” he said firmly. “Everyone's got quirks, son. Some of us knit, some of us drink blood, and some of us howl at the moon. We'll like you anyway, unless it's fucked up, but even that is relative, and we'll probably still tolerate you because we like Raphael, and we like seeing Raphael happy.”

He motioned over to where Raphael was laughing with Natalia, his face aglow with contentment, and Ivory's stomach scrunched itself up into a tiny, mischievous pixie that promptly wreaked havoc on his insides.

“I bet the howling isn't even the weirdest thing about you,” Mags continued, draining both cups of mulled wine and setting them aside. He really was ridiculously dexterous with his one remaining hand. “Let me guess. Do you like to play fetch? Do you have six toes? Tell me when I'm getting warm.”

Damn, Ivory hadn't meant to make any friends at all. Between his brothers and his bandmates and Cass and now Raphael, he had quite enough of other people being part of his life, and yet he was starting to like this person, and when a werewolf liked a person, there was little they could do to stop that trainwreck from happening.

“I don't play fetch,” he said mildly. “Do you?”

“Only when I'm in a kinky mood,” Mags grinned conspiratorially. “You know, if you don't tell me I'm just going to go around telling everyone you've got a mole in the shape of a squirrel.”

“I've heard worse about myself,” Ivory smiled, unable to keep his poker face up and running any longer. They fell into a comfortable silence, gazing out over the garden together and watching the other guests dotted between the plants. Ivory had the distinct impression that he saw something fairy-like flitting through the trees, but it was gone before he could get a better look. Nearby, Luvander was laughing wickedly at something Ghislain had said, and he noticed, for the first time, that Niall's apron said “blow the cook.” The garden itself was a beautiful tangle of weeds and wild flowers, grass growing between the steps and dog roses climbing up the fence on one side, and Ivory couldn't help feeling comfortably at home there amidst all those wild things.

“Beer for your thoughts?” Mags nudged him, his pirate hat pushed to the back of his head.

“Just,” Ivory mumbled, bracing his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands loosely together, “thinking about packs.”

Mags surveyed the garden. “Packs,” he said, “sounds about right. Come have another drink. You look like you need it.” He stood and sauntered ahead, raising his hand and calling out to Niall. Ivory only hesitated a moment before choosing to follow him in.

 


End file.
